


Fancy Wrappers

by Yoite



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Angst without plot, Angsty Crowley (Good Omens), Attempted Seduction, Aziraphale really likes Food, Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), British English, Crowley and Aziraphale getting drunk, Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley is a Sex God, Crowley is a bit of a slut, Crowley messes up, Crowley's Eyes (Good Omens), Crowley's Hair (Good Omens), Crowley's Sunglasses (Good Omens), Denial of Feelings, Drunken Shenanigans, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fighting and making up, First Kiss, Fluff without Plot, Hand porn, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kissing, M/M, Miracles, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Ok I guess everything about Crowley is a legit fetish, Pre-Apocalypse, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Tight Pants, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Unresolved Sexual Tension, Virgin Aziraphale (Good Omens), kraken - Freeform, random historic details
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28502790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoite/pseuds/Yoite
Summary: With the Apocalypse approaching, an angel and a demon should make the most of their human bodies. Crowley has a few suggestions. Actually, justonesuggestion.Set at the end of episode one, but assuming that Aziraphale & Crowley have given up on trying to prevent the End Of Times.Rating may change.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm only on episode 4 (yes, I know, I'm late to the party, but what a freaking good party this is) - please forgive any canon noncompliance / oocness.

It was the Wednesday before the Apocalypse, which, by London standards, was nothing too extravagant. Even if the early evening foot folk rushing around the streets of Soho knew about their impending doom they would be far too busy to concern themselves with such trivial matters, thank you very much. Babyfaced Executive Creative Art Directors and girls in club ready office wear were out on the hunt for their first happy hour curiosity cocktail of the night, all drenched in the kaleidoscopic hustle and double decker bustle of big city life. And inside a quaint little book shop innocuously named “A.Z. Fell and Co.”, an angel and a demon were having a jolly good time, all things considered.

“No no no, you’re _wrong_ ”, Crowley slurred, draped across the antique back room couch like a shaggy but nevertheless stylish black cat, “a bear would _definitely_ win against a shark, because.. bears have _feet_.”

He proceeded to give a less than convincing impression of a bear’s gait with his hands, rhythmically nodding along with the movement. Aziraphale could not help but chuckle as he sipped on his very last glass of his very last bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. He had saved it for a special occasion, and the End Of Times seemed special alright. They had lost the Antichrist, along with this rather loveable third rock from the sun; it was as good a reason as any to get pissed on a school night.

“I will miss this body, Angel”, Crowley drawled, a little more somber, returning to the one topic they were both trying to drink away. He stretched out one of his arms, inspecting the hand unsurprisingly attached to it, as if seeing it for the first time. Aziraphale’s gaze followed his, lazily sliding along the demon’s narrow wrist and long, thin fingers. “I mean, in the beginning I was like, ‘what’s this, it’s all soft, I was in the market for some hooves and horns’, you know?”

“Oh yeah”, the angel happily concurred, even though he really knew precious little about hooves and horns, because, well, they weren’t _edible_.

“And then these limbs, who the hell needs so many _limbs_?!”

“Nope, no one”, Aziraphale quietly grinned into his wine. This explained why after all this time, the demon had still not entirely mastered the art of walking straight, or even just _standing_ straight, usually bending his lanky frame into some sort of weird, angular, upright shape instead.

“Some things though, this body can do pretty well.”

A new dimension crept into Crowley’s voice, something the angel could only notice because they had known each other in quite a few different dimensions already, the current 4D one being a personal favourite of his. He stuck his nose deeper into the wine glass, which turned out to be traitorously empty. Every time his unlikely best friend was up to no good, which was pretty much always, Aziraphale promised himself that he would not be an enabler. Every time, he failed.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the demon leap up from the couch and stalk towards him, so he carefully peaked over the rim before evil could get too close.

Crowley had planted himself right in front of his armchair, head tilted to one side, eyeing him up expectantly – or so the angel assumed, as he was still wearing his absurd sunglasses.

“The immune response?” Aziraphale tried, innocently. Innocent was his specialty. “I’ve always considered it fascinatining how-"

“I’m talking about sex.”

“Oh.”

Another thing the human body could do pretty well was blushing, though Aziraphale found it to be a pointless and somewhat embarrassing feature, but who was he to question The Great Plan?

“Well, heh -“, he hastily climbed out of the chair, as if poked in the back by the devil’s trident, putting some distance between himself and the demon. Of course, he was used to Crowley’s outbursts of weirdness, especially when drunk, but this was a new one.

“You know what sex is, right?”

"Now would you look at the time!", Aziraphale pointed to his wrist, which, conveniently, did not feature a watch. "We should go to bed and have a nice sleep so we're all fresh and ready for Judgement Day, in our respective beds, obvi-"

"I don't feel like sleeping", the demon pouted, pulling the shades from his face in a gesture that seemed simply too cool to not have been purposefully practised and perfected. "You can sleep when you're back in heaven. Not like there'll be much else to do. _For eternity_."

Aziraphale swallowed, staring into liquid gold, tainted, yes, but golden nonetheless.

"So I'm thinking", Crowley shrugged casually, "let's get some entertainment out of these fancy wrappers while we still can."

"Excuse me?"

Something did not quite compute in Aziraphale's head. Maybe the crude human language they had to resort to while on Earth was at fault. Or _maybe_ it was just that really crude thing the demon seemed to be saying.

They had gotten drunk together on countless occasions, literally, as the first time they were hammered numerals had not yet been invented. But this was something else, and Aziraphale lacked both the phonetic and emotional capacity to deal with it.

"Why are you so flustered", Crowley spread out his arms, overgesticulating, as usual, "the whole 'be fruitful and multiply' rigmarole is your boss's suggestion, after all."

"Ah, now", Aziraphale raised a cautionary index finger, finding his footing, albeit briefly, "the holy consummation of marriage between a man and a woman is sacred."

"Uh-huh."

"And we are not married. Also, I’m pretty sure we can’t multiply.”

“Are you proposing?”

Crowley took an unexpectedly steady step forward and the angel took one back, perfectly synchronised, as if performing a ballet.

“Wha-?"

“Because I’m definitely propositioning.”

"Stop making fun!".

"Fun is what it is."

Another step and the angel's back hit a pillar, of which there were quite a few in his shop. A design flaw, he now realised.

"- no, it's sin", Aziraphale mumbled, transfixed by the demon's half hungry, half playful gaze, like a rabbit before a snake. There was also something else in his narrowed eyes he could not quite decipher.

"Oh, come on now", Crowley laughed, hands on his necktie, loosening the knot, "I've watched you pour full fat cream into your coffee."

Another stride forward.

"And a cheeky shot of Baileys, occasionally. Before midday."

One more left them inches apart. There was nothing unusual about this per se. They've known each other for so long that sometimes, when they were together, Aziraphale could not tell exactly where his own presence ended and Crowley's began. But right now, this closeness felt as new as the invention of light, 6024 years ago. It was all he could do to turn his head to the side, as if blinded, that ridiculous little organ responsible for keeping a whole person alive hammering inexplicably in his chest.

"We both know you like a bit of sinning", Crowley's voice was suddenly low and husky in his ear, each word a tiny tickling sensation. Aziraphale felt his hands grow sweaty, another thoroughly pointless feature of his current shape. His head was swimming with the demon's smell of pine wood and burnt cinnamon, rich and enticing.

"You enjoy all this sensual stuff. Eating pasties. Drinking wine..", Crowley's fingertips were now crawling up his arms on both sides, ".. the cute little shiver down your spine when you listen to Beethoven's 9th.."

"..I prefer the 6th, actually..", Aziraphale corrected him shakily.

"Of course you do", the demon chuckled, holding him in place by his shoulders. Not that he would have been able to make a run for it, anyway, what with his knees having been turned to custard.

Then Crowley's lips were pressed lightly against his temple. It went through him like a red hot current. He imagined that being slayed by his long-lost sword might feel something like this. But more painful, probably.

The angel's eyes fell shut all of their own accord as he was dissecting this new sensation, like the complex palate of a Michelin star entrée.

Inch by inch, Crowley's mouth slid down the side of his face, one of the demon's hands coming to rest on his other cheek, nudging his head back around so they were face to face. Crowley's lips dragged across his jaw and for a second their noses touched before Aziraphale felt his own lips being captured, surprisingly gently.

For a moment he thought he needed to check if his wings were protruding from his human shoulders, forever ruining his favourite coat, as he seemed to be floating in mid-air. The next moment he inexplicably felt like weaving his fingers into Crowley's hair and making his messy pompadour even messier. He couldn't do either of those things. He could not move a single muscle, frozen into place like one of those silly, overly sentimental angel sculptures on top of crypts as the demon was slowly kissing his lips.

Until it stopped and Aziraphale gave an involuntary discontented little noise.

"Seriously, Angel?"

"Hn?" he mumbled, only slightly more articulate, forcing his eyes open just a tad to discover that he was being scrutinised from up very close by a pair of snake eyes, with his face still firmly lodged in the demon's hands. It felt strangely, beautifully intimate.

"You're honestly telling me you've never tried this before, with anyone?"

Aziraphale opened his mouth, meaning to point out that, firstly, he had hardly been able to tell anything at all just now given that his speaking organs had been somewhat preoccupied, and secondly, it really wasn't any of the demon's business, but what came out was much simpler and franker.

".. why would I?"

His friend considered this for a moment, shrugged and grinned.

"You like stuffing things into your pie hole."

The angel was looking for a suitably indignant response, but his mind went pleasantly blank when Crowley's tongue slid past his teeth and along the smooth ridges of his mouth, deepening the kiss. He tasted like vintage wine and dark, hot, sweet espresso, and a dozen other things equally sinful and exquisite. Aziraphale's shell-shocked paralysis was already dissolving under this onslaught of heat and smell, of hearing his own breath hitch, sending him into sensory overload. He helplessly leaned into the demon's mouth, finally daring to touch him, one hand on his neck, the other fumbling at his waistcoat, his insides convulsing deliciously every time Crowley sucked on his lips.

"You taste fucking amazing", the demon purred against him, making something deep inside him hum with the inappropriate praise, like the string of a harp. Aziraphale's head spinned when he suddenly realised that the hard pillar against his back had been replaced with something much softer, that he was lying on his couch with Crowley stretched out on top of him, and furthermore, that his couch was now much larger, and actually a bed.

"W-wait a second-", he protested weakly, briefly untangling himself from the demon's tongue and desperately grasping at the sorry remains of rational thought bumping around his blissfully empty head.

"Why?" Crowley pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth, which did not exactly contribute to good and proper enunciation.

"..Cwofley ..I fon'f fink ee can -"

This was going way too fast for Aziraphale's liking, especially since he did not have the foggiest what this was, and never meant to go there in the first place. His human incarnation seemed to disagree, however, throbbing treacherously, heavenbent on making this work.

"Sure we can." The demon released his lip and buried his face in the crook of his neck, making him shiver from the blond wisps of his hair all the way down to the tips of his toes. "I've done it plenty. Still not sure if it's my side or your side that came up with the gift of orgasm, but I guarantee you'll enjoy this."

Aziraphale's stomach did a breathtaking flip as he felt Crowley's knee push in between his legs, nudging them apart, the demon's mouth working its way back up his neck as his hands were undoing the buttons of his shirt. The angel's body was nothing but a hot, gooey puddle of nerves at this point, yet something stuck in his mind like an annoying little thorn, stopping him from melting all the way.

".. how many?"

Instantly, Crowley stopped what he was doing, finally giving him some much-needed space as he glanced down at him in confusion.

"What?"

Aziraphale cleared his throat, fighting to regain some control over his breathing.

"Well, how many times.. have you done this?"

"Pfff..", the demon exhaled noncommittally, propping himself up on an elbow and resting his chin on his hand, hovering above him. "Kind of lost count after the first few thousands."

"Ah."

Suddenly, Aziraphale felt like he’d been caught in a typical bout of English rain, eager to get out of his cold, sticky clothes. Gently but insistently, he pushed his friend off of him, which turned out to be disappointingly easy. Somehow, he expected Crowley to protest and keep tempting him in his fiendish ways, but the demon did not try to stop him from getting up, staring up at him from underneath knitted eyebrows instead.

"What, are you jealous?"

Judging by his tone, Crowley could not quite decide whether to mock him, question his sanity, or question _his own_ sanity.

"Don't be silly", Aziraphale huffed, pointedly readjusting his bow tie.

"I'm a demon, as you keep reminding me," he was still obscenely sprawled out on the bed, "It's my helldamn duty to fornicate."

Aziraphale snipped his fingers and the bed shrunk back down to a small antique two-seater couch, nearly pushing Crowley off the edge and seriously cramping his style.

"Hey!"

The angel turned around and busied himself with readjusting his clothes.

How could he ever explain that it bothered him even more than the actual indecency of what they were just doing. The thought that something so new and shiny to him, like a freshly minted coin, was like an old penny to Crowley, for him to casually pick up from the pavement and toss into his pocket. He could not even explain it _to himself_. It was ridiculous. The last thirty minutes of his existence had been ridiculous.

"You're ridiculous", Crowley echoed his thoughts.

Well, it's not like he had to justify himself to a demon. Still, he tried.

"This is.. indecorous", Aziraphale stated, keeping his voice calm and friendly, which was his default mode, yet unexpectedly challenging right now that he was buttoning up his shirt post snogging a demon. "I wasn’t sent to Earth.. to _fornicate_."

"No, I guess you were sent to fight the righteous war on sushi.” Crowley’s voice was rolling its eyes. “Truly, the lord's ways are ineffable."

Aziraphale pressed his mouth into a thin line, forcing himself to turn around and face his adversary. Crowley was still lounging on the couch, legs crossed, the usual sarcastic expression plastered across his face. The angel could not help but let his gaze slide along his tall, slim frame, unable to forget the feeling of having it press him down into the mattress.

"You should go."

"Whatever", Crowley finally got up, looking around and picking up his glasses from a shelf, before adding under his breath, just barely audible, "probably wouldn't be much fun to fuck you anyway."

Aziraphale gaped at him in shock, all air seemingly sucked out of his lungs, and Crowley stared back, equally shocked, realisation and guilt fluttering across his face, followed by fear. Real, bone-chilling fear. He opened his mouth, closed it again, shaking his head. Then, in a puff of black smoke, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. Please leave me a comment. Yes, I'm a total comments whore. 
> 
> I planned this as a three-parter, but I guess I'll have to wait and see what happens in the actual series XD.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, this story is a total mess. I meant for it to be light and fluffy with some smut, but it turned into an angsty cheese fest instead, without smut. Yet! I'll leave it marked as unfinished for now, in case the muse of porn chooses to come and strike me after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired in part by the gorgeous comic "Demonic Dignity" by the super talented @doodle.skabootle on IG, go check it out (part 1/6: https://www.instagram.com/p/CHirl3llC_A/?igshid=rmqkh6ip5pgs)

It was the Thursday before the Apocalypse, and by now most Londoners realised that something seemed a little off. The fact that it was snowing in mid-June was rather unusual, even by British standards. Another telltale sign were the giant Kraken rising from the Thames and picking hapless tourists off Waterloo bridge.

It was sad, really, but Aziraphale was fine with it. Less footfall meant fewer customers demanding books that he desperately did not want to sell, even if he only had a couple more days left to enjoy their company. Soon he would be drafted into the divine corps to fight some silly war, but until then he was perfectly content snuggled up in his armchair with a mug of spiked hot chocolate, not missing anything, or _anyone._ He had decided it was finally time to finish Hamlet. It was one of those books everyone could miraculously quote from without having ever read it, a very human kind of magic. Of course, he would have been able to enjoy the play's premiere, back in the 17th century, were it not for..

He sighed, lowering the manuscript. He never knew how much Crowley was under his skin, until their actual skins did that highly inappropriate and utterly regrettable, beautiful, beautiful thing. Which wasn't a thing at all. He was an angel, of course, God had created him to love all creatures, great and small, and dark, and tall, and devilishly handsome. But not _that_ kind of love. It was definitely not the case that after 6024 years on earth this whole messy, hormonal human make-up had inadvertently seeped into his pure, celestial soul. Even if that _were_ the case, he would never fall for a _demon_ who'd done nothing but mock him and challenge him, and rescue him out of tricky situations, and make him laugh, and order him oysters and champagne for brunch.

Aziraphale rubbed his eyes, somewhere between tired and annoyed. Lying was a sin, even to yourself. Desire, too. Crowley was right after all, he was on quite the sinning path. But it hardly mattered now. Nothing mattered anymore. It was over.

He picked up Shakespeare's signed manuscript once again, determined to get past the first ghost appearance at least - and promptly dropped it to the floor, startled by a rather ungentlemanly banging on the door.

"I'm afraid we're quite closed!" he barked politely, momentarily regretting that he was physically unable to curse.

"Aziraphale, you in? Open up! Please!"

The all too familiar voice made the angel's heart jump all the way up into his throat, throbbing there and cutting off his air. He never expected to see his friend again, not on earth, at least. He never expected him to use the magic word, either.

Against better judgement, Aziraphale's legs carried him to the door, hands unlatching the Yale lock. Sure enough, the demon was there, on the front porch, arms wrapped around his shaking frame, covered in several inches of powder snow.

"Can I -"

"- come in", Aziraphale completed his sentence, without thinking. This was quite a regular occurrence.

He did not have to say it twice. Crowley rushed in as if chased by the hell hound himself, furiously rubbing his shoulders and shaking snow out of his barnet.

"B-bloody cold out-t-there!"

Aziraphale leaned back against the door, taking him in, in all his black-and-white glory, even ignoring the little puddles Crowley's shoes were leaving on his freshly polished floors. Memories of their last encounter flooded him all at once, the unforeseen heat of it, and the strange hurt, too, deeper than any other time they had fallen out.

'What do you -"

"I've g-got something for you", the demon reached inside his pointy-lapelled jacket, his movements a little more hectic than usual, "I know, it's not like it's m-much use to you now, what with everything going b-belly-up, but still, you sh-should have it."

About 40% of Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to kick Crowley back out into the street and be done with it, but the other 60% were craning their neck, intrigued, despite the well-known fact that curiosity is responsible for dead cats and fallen angels.

"Here." 

The demon held a little brown parcel in his hand, clutching it by one corner and stretching it as far away from his body as possible, as if making sure Aziraphale would not have to touch him when accepting it.

Carefully, the angel removed the brown paper wrapping, then a layer of plastic, and another layer of thinner paper. He unrolled the ancient papyrus in his hands. It did not take too long for his eyes to nearly climb out of their sockets.

"This is..", he could barely believe what he was saying, ".. this looks like a Hipparchus scroll!"

"Yeah.. I knew that!"

"But where.. how..?"

"Oh, y'know, when the Library of Alexandria b-burnt down, uh, was quite the b-bonfire, I can tell you, d-definitely not my fault, by the way, I mean, I m-might have brought in a candle to look around, b-but -"

He wisely cut himself off, pacing up and down the small room in that weirdly floppy manner, hands stuffed down the pockets of his unnecessarily tight jeans, teeth still chattering from the cold.

"Anyway, I rescued a few b-bits and bobs.."

"You're calling the Father of Astronomy's lost writings 'bits and bobs'?! This is.. _invaluable_!"

Abruptly, the demon stopped in his tracks, giving a little lopsided smirk at his enthusiasms, one brow quirked up above his sunglasses.

Aziraphale knew that look, Crowley had smiled at him like that a million times before, when they were in the middle of a philosophical debate, sometimes, or enjoying tiny cakes at a new pop-up café in Mayfair. But it had never given him goosebumps the size of teacups before. 

"So, um..", he carefully settled the scroll down on his desk, eager not to let silence join the electricity hanging in the air between them, ".. you had this, and you did not tell me, the literal owner of an antique book shop?"

"I meant t-to, sure, but then I thought, I'll keep it, just in c-case I ever really need something f-from you.."

"Oh", Aziraphale swallowed, his mind suddenly filled with such uninvited filth, which he never even knew he was capable of thinking, "and what do you need from me now?"

Crowley reached up, slowly removing his glasses, but there was none of his usual swagger in the gesture. It felt strangely vulnerable, which was not a concept Aziraphale would normally place anywhere near the demon. The golden yellow of his eyes was tinged with red.

"To forgive me", he said, a little hoarsely, finally getting his shaking under control.

Aziraphale stared at him, warmth spreading through every fibre, despite the rising storm howling in the windows. Even if Crowley didn't have the pitiful air of a wet cat right now, it would be easy. It wasn't in his nature to hold a grudge for a long time. Not to mention that the phrase "for a long time" would soon become meaningless.

"I forgive you."

"No! You shouldn't forgive me!"

"But you just said -"

"Stop being such a saint!"

"Well, it's kind of what I -"

"You're my best friend!" Crowley snapped with such intensity it almost sounded like an accusation. "My only friend! And I went all Incubus on you and tried to seduce you like a complete twerp!"

_Tried rather successfully_ , Aziraphale thought to himself, eyes darting away, hoping the dimmed light in the shop would hide his burning cheeks, along with the involuntary little smile playing on his lips for no good reason whatsoever.

"It's not what I wanted at all!"

"Yes, you made that quite clear.. at the end..", he mumbled, rubbing his neck, more to cover up his own nerves than with any genuine bitterness.

Still, Crowley gave a frustrated grunt, throwing his arms in the air.

"That's not what I'm trying to say, you idiot!"

"Aaand I forgive you again."

"Ngk!"

The demon took a few long jerky strides, back and forth, coming to a halt in front of a bookshelf. 

"It's getting to me, Angel!" 

Aziraphale's stomach clenched painfully at the sudden hollowness in his voice.

"This whole blasted end of the world dumpster fire. I shouldn't moan, I'm the one who kicked it all off. But we've had a good time here, haven't we? A good old time.."

He picked up a book, randomly, thumbing through it, as if desperate to touch something, anything, to keep himself grounded in the matter of this reality.

"Crowley, don-", the angel raised a warning hand, but too late.

"Outch!"

The demon dropped the Little Book Of Holy Psalms, cursing and sticking his fingers into his mouth. 

Aziraphale screwed up his face. That had to hurt, but he probably had a tube of Savlon lying around in a drawer somewhere.

"Let me see."

He hurried up to his friend, the awkwardness between them dissipated, gently taking the demon's hand into his own. But the blisters were not what instantly caught his attention.

"Crowley, you're freezing!"

"It's nothing", the demon hissed in a half-hearted attempt to pull away his icy fingers.

"What's wrong?" Aziraphale ignored him, cupping his cheek with the other hand, just to be certain. It was cold as stone, which was definitely abnormal, even for someone who had stupidly walked through a snow storm. Crowley shuddered under his touch, his teeth starting to chatter once again. 

"I'm f-fine, It's just a snake thing, you know, r-reptiles, amphibians and s-such. We're not g-great at handling the c-cold."

Crowley sounded almost embarrassed. Crowley was _never_ embarrassed. The angel, however, felt hot, bitter shame drying up his throat. How could he have been so self-centred and fail to notice how pale his friend was, how much he was shivering still. 

"Wait here", he let go of him, more than a little panicked. "Take off your jacket. It's drenched. I'll just find some -"

He rushed to the back room, instantly returning with two thick woollen quilts to find that Crowley had followed his instructions, somehow managing to look both dashing and, at the same time, utterly dishevelled in his dark top and waistcoat. Aziraphale was doing his best to convince his heart not to implode as he carefully draped the blankets over the demon's shoulders, one after the other, wrapping them around his slim frame until only his gloomy face was sticking out of a mountain of fabric. He rubbed his his hands up and down Crowley's blanket-covered arms trying to chafe some warmth back into him.

"H-hey! Enough! We're good!" The demon kept complaining unconvincingly.

Finally, Aziraphale took a step back, admiring his handiwork. Then to both their surprise, they both burst out laughing.

"Is that better?"

"Yeah. Overkill much?"

"Why did you even do such a stupid thing as to walk here. Why not just.."

Aziraphale did a little flourish with his hand, the universal sign for 'miracle'.

"Dunno. I guess I just.. wasn't thinking."

There was a moment of silence, only punctuated by the pitter patter of hail against the window panes.

"How did I not know this about you? I mean, the poikilothermic part, not the not thinking part."

"Have you never wondered why I don't hang around these parts in winter?"

"Oh. Hm."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Angel." Suddenly Crowley was serious again, dropping his eyes. "Like, how long I've waited."

Aziraphale's blood came rushing to his face, throbbing in his temples. He already knew the answer to the question he was about to ask.

"For what?"

"To kiss you."

Only Crowley could make a confession like that while looking like an absurd, oversized, grumpy caterpillar. Aziraphale had no idea whether to laugh, cry or scream, so he resorted to the time-tested option of gaping with his mouth open.

"I've been thinking about it for eternity, uh, in human terms, I mean, since the beginning of earth, so yeah, eternity. But it was never the right time. And then, time just run out, the sneaky bastard."

He started pacing again, more agitated than before, dropping one of the blankets.

"I just can't wrap my head round this, Angel, we say goodbye, and when we meet again, on the battlefield, we'll have to what, fight each other? Kill each other? I could never -"

Crowley jerked his hands out from underneath the quilt, running them through his hair with such force it almost looked like he was about to pull out a few dark red strands. Aziraphale had never seen him like this before. 

"Crowley, calm down, It's ok -", he tried, nervously kneading his hands in front of his waist.

"No, it's not ok!" The demon barked furiously, dropping the remaining blanket. "I thought it'd be ok, as long as it didn't mean anything, as long as I could tell myself that, but kissing you, it was meant to _mean_ something.. meant - to mean - ugh, stupid language!"

He hid his face in his hands, a trembling mess.

"It meant _everything_ ", he sobbed, suddenly quiet, barely audible. "And then.. when you said.. when you asked me.. it was.. it almost sounded like.. and I didn't know how to.. so I.. stop staring at me!"

But Aziraphale couldn't help it. He could not look away, could not move a finger, not even breathe. Through the pounding in his ears, he heard the demon take a deep breath, two, three, then Crowley slowly slid his long hands from his face, looking a little more collected, and a lot more damp. Their eyes met for a moment, which might as well have been a year, because time stopped and they weren't on earth anymore, they weren't technically anywhere or anywhen, minutes and miles had not yet been invented. 

Crowley gave a little waterlogged chuckle and the spell broke, he could not hold up the course of time for long.

"So, well, to summarise, I'm a moron. I'll be off then. Bet you can't wait to read -"

He made a move to turn away when Aziraphale's hand shot out, not waiting for an instruction from his brain to grab Crowley by the arm.

"You're not going anywhere", he heard himself state, surprisingly calmly yet firmly. "You haven't even warmed up yet."

Before he knew it he had already wrapped his arms around the demon's body, holding him as close as humanly possibly, face buried in his neck, melting into the comfort of his smell. 

"Is this helping?" He whispered.

Crowley mumbled something incoherent, arms circling his waist, cautiously at first, then fiercely enough to almost break him in half. It would have been a price worth paying. There were more things in heaven and earth indeed, but none as good as this, Aziraphale was quite sure of it, even though he would not get to finish Hamlet once again.

"I'm sorry", the demon sniffed against his ear, "I can never make it right. I can never unkiss you and try again."

Aziraphale let his hands sink into Crowley's hair, running his fingers through the long, unruly strands at the top of his head.

"No, but if it helps regulating your temperature, maybe you could _kiss_ me again, if you like."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if this deserves another chapter.


End file.
